


Detroit: Becoming Human

by QueenForADay



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A Report by Connor, Angst, Angst and Feels, Becoming Human is Difficult, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deserves Happiness, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Detroit: Become Human Spoilers, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotions, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: A collection of ficlets surrounding Connor's growing experience of what it's like to be human.*Ratings vary from chapter to chapter.(ON HIATUS)





	Detroit: Becoming Human

As soon as Hank’s car pulls up outside your house, you almost fall out the front door and rush out on to the driveway. The evening commuters are starting to head home from work as you see a couple of neighbours start parking in front of their own homes and go inside for the night. Hank gets out of his car, combing his fingers through his hair and huffing out a deep sigh.

He spots you before you can call out to him. “Did you get my text?” he asks, voice unusually quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, frowning slightly, “a pretty fucking cryptic one if I must say so Hank: _can I drop the kid to yours tonight? Something’s up with him_. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with him?”

Hank holds up his hands, looking between the car and you. “Keep your voice down, alright, the kid got spooked is all.”

You frown. Connor? Spooked? You could almost laugh. “Hank, that makes no sense,” you look into the front window of Hank’s car. Inside, quietly sitting motionless in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, is Connor. He looks...fine. From what you can see, he looks like he always does when perched inside Hank’s car. You look back at the man. “Is it a wiring problem? If it’s something like that Hank then I can’t fix him: he’ll have to go back to Cyberlife-”

Hank scowls and shakes his head. “No, God, nothing like that.” He pauses. “Well, I hope not.”

When you look back to the car, you find Connor peering back at you. You jerk your head – a silent command to get out of the car. He stayed at your house before: on days where Hank wants to be left alone and days where Connor doesn’t particularly want to go to the Cyberlife complex he normally goes to after work. When he gets out of the car, you keep your eyes on him. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. He moves just like he always has, if not just a bit more slowly. When he rounds the car to join you on the other side, though, you spot it.

Something in his eyes. Something that wasn’t there before.

Hank sighs. He knows you’ve seen it. “I’m sorry to startle you with that message but I don’t know what’s going on, and apparently he doesn’t either.”

One of Connor’s hands goes to yours. His touch is gentle as his fingers intertwine around yours. “(Y/N),” he says quietly, turning to speak into your ear. Hank is no more than a few feet away. Still, the other man turns his body away. “I would like to speak to you about something.”

You can’t stop looking in his eyes. Something almost...human.

He still stares at you, expectant for an answer. You nod firmly. “Okay,” clearing your throat, you look over to Hank, “okay, Connor can stay tonight. I’ll have him back to you tomorrow, if he’s up for it.”

The man nods. “That’s alright with me.” He peers over to Connor. “Alright with you, kid?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Connor replies, looking down to where his hand is joined with yours. Whether or not Hank sees it, he doesn’t let on. He says his usual goodbye of just a grunt and wave of the hand, and just as quickly as he got to your house, he’s gone.

Connor is still by your side. “Come on,” you gently nudge his shoulder with yours, “we’ll go inside and you can tell me everything.”

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, the barest of smiles tugging at them before it’s gone again.

 

* * *

 

 

There might have been a point in your life when you could have worried about someone seeing the messy state of your home. It’s not often people would come over, but when they did, you tried making the place presentable. After a couple of years, you just stopped trying. It was always going to be a mess. Working for the DPD gives you a good wage: although these days you’ve become less of a cop and more of an on-call technician and engineer for androids.

You pick up a discarded sweatshirt from the couch and toss it over to a nearby armchair instead. “Sit,” you gesture to the couch. “I’m going to finish up some dishes and then we can talk. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You busied yourself with cleaning up the last of the dishes from dinner. Every so often you look over your shoulder, at Connor who just sits there in the adjoining living room, staring off into space. Putting the last of the dishes away, you walk slowly back into the living room. “Hank seemed worried about you today,” you note. As you sit down on the couch with Connor, you notice that he’s frowning slightly. You tilt your head. “He worries, you know. He might be crass over just about everything, but he does care: in his own way.”

It doesn’t pull a response out of Connor.

“Hank told me you two were chasing a deviant today,” you say, keeping your voice soft. You haven’t encountered a deviant yet. Those jobs were just handed straight to Hank and Connor these days. But you would often ask Fowler for just one tiny opportunity to get your hands on an _intact_ deviant brain. You wanted to know how this was happening. You had a theory, but you just needed some evidence of it.

Connor fidgets – a first. He picks at the cuff of his jacket. “A PL600 model was hiding on the roof of the Stratford Tower. He was involved in the hijacking of the TV station’s airway. We found him in one of the air ducts on the roof.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the room. His fingers flex and twitch on his thighs. “I looked into his memories,” he recounts slowly. “I’ve done it countless times before.”

You hum. “What was different about this one, then?”

Connor’s jaw clenches slightly. “I...” his mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. It’s the first time he’s ever been like this. Connor always has a measured response to everything, no matter how big or small. You’ve never seen him struggle for words. “I was looking for something that could help us with the investigation. I managed to get a glimpse of something, just for a second, before...”

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and cup the back of his neck with your hand. It’s not the first time you’ve touched him. But you’re still surprised at how realistic the skin feels underneath your palm: how heat radiates off of it.  Connor’s eyelids snap shut. “Connor?”

“He shot himself, while I was inside his head,” he voice is tight, like how it usually is but something else is weaving through his words, “and when he died, I...I felt it. I felt what it was like to die. And I was afraid.”

Some part of your mind – the engineer and technician – is fascinated. That’s what you can see in Connor’s eyes. _Fear_. Pure fear. A human emotion swirling around android eyes.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to die.” His words are choked. As if something is lodging itself in his throat and stopping them from coming out. In an instant, there’s a single drop of clear liquid streaming down his cheek.

He’s... _crying_.

Something akin to a sob wracks through his throat. “I don’t want to die.”

“Oh, Connor,” you scoot forwards, wrapping your arms around him in a firm hug, “shh, it’s okay, you’re safe now.”

“I don’t know what to do. I-I shouldn’t be feeling any of this, it’s not my programming-”

You continue to hush him, running a hand up and down his back. You look down between you and notice blue liquid seeping into the front of your shirt. Hank mentioned him getting shot, but he would be fine. You knew android skin well enough to know that Kamski made it self-restorative. The blue stain on your shirt doesn’t even bother you.

Connor presses his forehead against your shoulder, letting you hold him for a moment. Choked-off sobs wrack through his body, shaking him from the core, as he loosely brings his arms up to hold you against him. As his hands move across the small exposed patch of skin on your shoulder from your tank-top, you pause at how human-like his skin feels. It’s smooth, with not a blemish on it like human skin, but his touch is warm.

“Tell you what,” you mumble, resting your chin on top of his head, “we’ll get into pyjamas, go to bed for the night, and we’ll tell Fowler you’re taking the day off tomorrow.”

At that, Connor pulls away. His brow is creased in a frown. “No, I can’t, I have to go in – the case-”

“-Will be handled by Hank until we get your head sorted,” you run your fingers through his hair. It feels just as real as his skin. His eyelids flutter closed from the touch. “What d’ya say?”

It takes him a moment to agree, but when he does, you disentangle yourselves from each other and drag him to your room. He has his own at the other side of the house. Soon after working alongside Hank at the station, you began to wonder where it is that Connor actually stays. Hank’s house is too small for himself, let alone another person. And his attitude to androids meant that Connor definitely wasn’t going to be bunking with him anytime soon – even though, now, you start to wonder if his attitudes are changing, and he’s softening up a little.

He talks about Cyberlife all the time, but you wondered if he just returned to storehouses or labs whenever he was done his shift.

Eventually, you just offered him the spare room in your house.

He keeps his hand in yours, letting you lead him down the hallway as you turn off the lights behind you. He’s notably quieter now. One glance over your shoulder shows you what you already suspected. His LED is whirling yellow, with flickers and flashes of red appearing for a second before disappearing.

Your room is closer to the living room than his, so you shuffle him inside. He arches an eyebrow before you wave a hand. “I want to keep an eye on you during the night.”

He tilts his head slightly. “For anomalies?”

You start pulling down your sheets, shrugging a shoulder as he waits for an answer. “Yeah, sure.” Something was going on with his processor. As the weeks go on and more androids start deviating, you start to wonder why. Something in your mind screams that Kamski has something to do with it. You wouldn’t put it past the man to fuck with something in the androids’ systems before he ‘left’ Cyberlife.

As you finish with the sheets, you notice Connor is just standing near the door of your room. “Androids don’t require sleep,” he says, “you know that, (Y/N).”

“You’re right. You don’t need sleep. But you do need a moment to hibernate so your functions can re-right themselves from anything experienced today.” _It’s also called sleeping_ , your mind suggests, _just the androids’ version of it_.

Connor does eventually get into bed, changing his uniform for one of your ex’s old tees that you never got around to getting rid of. As Connor rests his head against the pillow, you try not to smile at how his eyelids start to flicker closed. He struggles to keep them open. _Androids don’t need sleep, huh? Sure._

You take the other side of the bed, rolling on to your side so you can face Connor. His LED is hidden on the other side of his face, but you know that androids are capable of showing emotions. “Get some rest,” you say softly, reaching out to push a curl from his forehead, “and tomorrow, we’ll look into these fears of yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com - A multi-fandom mess just like it's creator.


End file.
